


By Candlelight

by starprise_entership



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 16:16:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15952985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starprise_entership/pseuds/starprise_entership
Summary: Garak has one lone candle in his shed, which becomes absolutely necessary when the power goes out.





	By Candlelight

By candlelight, Garak writes.

The air is cool enough for a Cardassian winter, and it would probably be nice to turn on the stove right now for some warmth...except that the stove wouldn’t turn on because the power grid in the entire province was down.

The wind whistles through his tiny shed, which is only illuminated by the slender, flickering flame of the candle and what little light emanates from his PADD.

_A long sob story probably won’t do me any good. He probably won’t even have the time to read it. I wouldn’t even have the time to send it before the battery and the signal runs out._

Garak saves his current ramblings as a draft and starts a new message.

_My dearest Doctor,_

_...I await your arrival._

_With love,_  
_Elim Garak._

That would do. The low battery warning on his PADD flashes once he hits the send button, and he hopes that his message would have gotten out before it dies.

Just like the candle flame.

A rush of wind smothers the fire, leaving behind a trail of wispy smoke.

There are no more matches in his shed to relight the candle–he’ll have to go to the market for that tomorrow. For now, he would sleep.

* * *

By candlelight, Garak weeps.

His chest tightens as he cries out, screaming in pain as the darkness descends upon him, threatening to smother him like the wind smothered the candle flame the other day. Curling up into fetal position, Garak clams his hands over his ears as the old shed creaks– _it’s caving in, he knows. It’s caving in…_

“Garak!” Bashir puts the candle down next to him and slowly peels his hands from the sides of his head. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“I wish I could say that with full certainty, my dear,” laments Garak, wincing again as the shed creaks. “The walls, they’re coming in, they’re coming–“

“They aren’t.” Bashir reaches up to check a throbbing artery on Garak’s forehead. “Your pulse is racing like mad.”

“I’m scared. I’m weak.”

“Nonsense.” Bashir chides, clearing the floor area so that he can get Garak to his feet. “We should get you out of here. Some fresh air would do you good.”

Stepping from the dark shed into the open air is a weight off his chest. While the candle has been left behind, in the gloominess of the shed, the night air crackles with activity.

_The...the fire-insects._

They glow, orange and red like ashes left over from a stoked fire. Drifting, they hang in the air, floating ghostly embers of coal.

“You need to breathe,” advises Bashir, leading him to the upturned piece of rubble that serves as a bench in the garden. “In, and out. In, and out.”

Garak follows the instruction, grateful for the firm, guiding hand placed in the upper part of his back. Once his breathing has calmed, Garak reaches over to where Bashir’s other hand hangs in his lap and takes it, feeling the softness of the human’s skin.

Bashir scoots over and nudges Garak’s shoulder with a gentle bump, a signal for him to lower his head onto the welcoming, broad shoulder Bashir offers him. “We’ll get through this, somehow. I won’t leave you, whatever it takes.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Garak gets out a dry croak, the words crushed by his clenched throat. “You’re too kind.”

“I love you, alright? And that’s why I want to see you happy.”

“I’m not very certain I can promise you that.”

“You don’t have to. Being with me is enough.”

A glowing ember lands on the tip of Garak’s thumb, on the hand that is so tenderly interlinked with Bashir’s, and almost as soon as it has arrived it springs off, rising from the ashes.

* * *

By candlelight–

–Garak waxes lyrical, about the man lying beside him in their shared bed.

Sweet, almost inaudible whispers–the added mystery comes in the form of foreign tongues, an incomprehensible babble, and yet they both know the intended meaning behind those words.

It’s in the way the syllables roll off their tongues, refined and smooth and velvety. Names of endearment, aiming to tease and please; intermittent words, squeezed in between subsequent kisses; sporadic gasps, no words spoken but the raw sensation upon the meeting of skin on skin–it’s all part of their unique, complex language, and learning to craft and speak their own tongue is undoubtedly the most enjoyable and refreshing part of their entwined journey.

The candle burns brighter tonight. It’s the brightest it’s ever burned, and the brightest it will ever burn. Bright–like stars, like the stars that gleam overhead, full of opportunity and hope.

The stars they shared their first confessions among, aboard that beautiful old space station.

 


End file.
